


The Twilight of the Gods

by Kithri



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kithri/pseuds/Kithri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the day the superheroes fell.</p><p>This is the day they truly became heroes.</p><p>Prelude to Where Angels Fear to Tread.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Twilight of the Gods

Sometimes it's hard to believe that the thousand and one impossible feats we now take for granted were once real only in the realm of fiction.

Sometimes it's hard to believe that there was ever a time before heroes walked this earth.

Sometimes it's hard to believe that there was ever a time when superhero wasn't just another word for superstar.

Sometimes it's hard to believe in heroes.

Sometimes it's hard to believe.

But sometimes, you don't have to.

Sometimes all you have to do is open your eyes and see what's right in front of you.

And sometimes, what you see changes everything.

 

\-- From the Pulitzer Prize winning article "The Twilight of the Gods - The Making of the Modern Day Superhero," by the journalist Katie Westerhouse.

 

* * * * *

 

Clips from archive footage:

 

Water hits the camera like a slap, the frame jerking upwards at the impact as a man -- the cameraman? -- swears vehemently. The swearing takes on a panicked edge as the camera swings wildly from side to side, the operator clearly struggling to keep his balance.

"Careful, Carlos." The words, deep and concerned, are followed by a gloved hand reaching in from out of shot. The picture steadies.

"Thanks, Corrosion Man." Carlos' voice is slightly breathless, and the image shivers slightly before steadying, turning relatively smoothly to focus on a black and green-clad figure starkly silhouetted against the storm-lashed sky.

Corrosion Man laughs. "Just call me Jonas. I don't think any of the sound from this is going to make primetime, somehow."

"Uh, right. I guess." Carlos sounds a little sheepish. Corrosion Man laughs again.

"Don't worry about it. If you can't swear a blue streak when you almost go ass over apex, when can you? Right?" He reaches forward, apparently clapping Carlos heartily on the shoulder.

"Yeah, I suppose," Carlos agrees. "Thanks again for the assist, Cor- I mean, Jonas." He sounds a little overwhelmed.

Jonas nods cheerfully. "You're welcome. Take care, okay?"

"You too."

The smile turns distinctly wry. "Thanks for the thought, but I don't need to take care." He plants clenched fists on his hips, legs akimbo and chin thrust out defiantly. "Didn't you hear? I'm a goddamn superhero."

\-- Cut --

The screen stays black, this recording apparently limited to audio. Initially even that seems doubtful, as the first few seconds consist of nothing but the hiss and crackle of static.

"-to Base, over." Silence follows the first words to break through the interference, so that it seems as if the sound might have cut out completely. A few seconds later, however, the unidentified voice -- female, indeterminate age, stressed -- speaks again. "Repeat: Chief Technician Nguyen to Base. Can anyone hear me? Over."

"Copy, Nguyen, we read you. What's your status? Over." The second voice is male, and sounds distinctly relieved.

"The grid has been established, and the output is holding steady. A couple of the designated sites were inaccessible due to the weather, so we had to modify the pattern slightly, but it seems to be working well enough for now. The only technical hitch is that we're getting some interference on the comms. Not sure if it's due to the gennies, or something else." Nguyen's tone turns wry. "God knows it couldn't possibly be the top quality equipment we've been issued with." A beat. "Over."

"Come on, Chi, you know we had to go with the lowest bidder on this one. Finance are on our asses enough already. Be thankful they're not making you use tin cans and string. Over."

"I know, I know," Chi sighs, sounding put-upon. "Anyway," she continues, her tone turning brisk and professional again. "The interference isn't causing us too many problems at the moment, but we're running some tests to try to pinpoint the cause. There wasn't anything like this in the dry run, no pun intended, but it's always different in the field. Over."

"No plan survives contact with the enemy," says Base, ruefully. "Okay, sounds like you're on top of things. We may have to rig a work-around if the interference gets worse, but otherwise it sounds like we're good to go. Over."

"Affirmative. Catch you on the flip side, Base. Ov-" she starts to say, and then apparently changes her mind. "Oh, and Mike: the guys say that as soon as we're finished here, the first round's on you. Over."

Mike laughs. "Roger that. Tell your guys that if we pull this off without a hitch, the first *two* rounds are on me. Over."

"Will do!" Chi sounds as though she's laughing herself, her voice waving with mirth. "Over and out."

\-- Cut --

The camera pans slowly over a drowned city. Streets have become rivers, their soft voice replaced by the water's furious roar. The buildings poking up from the murky brown depths seem almost like grasping hands, reaching for salvation.

The camera zooms in, focusing on a dark clump tumbling its way downstream. As the image sharpens, the clump reveals itself to be a handful of drowned feathers caught in a net of tangled beads; the sad and broken remains of some reveller's finery.

Now that the eyes know what to look for, tell-tale glints can be seen, here and there. Here, a scrap of sequined cloth, twisting and fluttering forlornly in the wind. There, a single high-heeled shoe, caught in the crook of a tree-branch.

And there's a shape that doesn't glitter. A dark, broken shape, that floats almost lazily down the storm-swollen river. Distance adds a deceptive lethargy to its movements that's oddly, ironically, *bitterly* fitting with the city's famously laid-back vibe.

New Orleans: the Big Easy.

But that was before the levees broke.

\-- Cut --

"-predicted that Hurricane Katrina would make a third landfall around this time, and the weather here seems to bear that out. Given the scale of the destruction we're already seeing, it's not clear how much more this city can take."

As if to illustrate the reporter's point, a tree branch breaks free with an almighty crack, hurled into the air like some kind of lopsided missile. She spins around in the direction of the noise, ducking instinctively as the branch flies over her head.

(It was never in any danger of hitting her, but survival instincts are called that for a reason, and there's plenty of other debris hurtling through the air. Any one of them could be deadly.)

Regaining her composure, the reporter huddles deeper into her bright yellow anorak and, clutching her microphone in a death grip, resumes her commentary.

"We're still receiving reports of people trapped in the city itself; cut off by the floodwaters. Rescue efforts are on-going, but are being severely hampered by the dangerous conditions. I have here with me Corporal Abel McKinley of the National Guard, who is going to tell us a little about the relief efforts. Hello, Corporal McKinley."

The camera pulls back a little to reveal a man draped from head almost to boots in a dark green rain-slicker. Corporal McKinley towers over the reporter. She isn't a petite woman, but he's extraordinarily tall, and broad with it. It would be perfectly reasonable to describe him as being built like a brick outhouse. He seems to be trying to look at both the camera and the reporter, squinting against the wind and rain lashing everything in sight.

"Hello Ms Westerhouse," the corporal booms, his voice as large as his frame.

"Thank you for taking the time to speak with me. I realise that you must be an extremely busy man right now, so I won't keep you too long. How is it down there?"

Corporal McKinley sighs deeply, looking immensely weary. "Frankly, it's a cluster... uh, I mean, it's a mess. We're doing our best, of course -- and, believe me, I have nothing but praise for the men and women risking themselves to try to save lives -- but it feels like we're fighting a losing battle. Seems like not another five minutes goes by without reports of more people trapped, or sandbags being washed away, or some other damn thing." He shakes his head, looking thoroughly disgusted. "How the hell can you fight the weather?"

As the corporal speaks, Ms Westerhouse looks more and more dismayed. When he pauses for breath, she leaps in almost desperately, something that looks like panic in her eyes as she asks: "I understand that three of the superhero teams have come to help out with the rescue, relief and repair operations. Surely that's easing some of the burden on FEMA and the National Guard?"

"They've helped out some, sure. Mainly with rescuing people we can't otherwise reach. And blocking some of the breaks so we can work on fixing them." Ms Westerhouse starts to look relieved, like things are getting back on track, but Corporal McKinley isn't finished yet. "Of course, they'd be *more* help if they'd actually had proper military training. And don't even get me started on the chain of command issues. I mean, these so-called heroes are basically just civilians with superpowers, and throwing civilians into the middle of a military operation is always going to cause trouble. Honestly, I'd almost prefer that command just gave me more men and equipment instead. At least I'd know what to do with those."

Her panic back with a vengeance, Ms Westerhouse lets out an awkward bray of a laugh, like the corporal is making a joke. But he doesn't seem amused.

"But, of course," the second part delivered more as an aside to the camera than to Corporal McKinley. "The heroes do all undergo a strict military training course to prepare them to deal with natural disasters, terrorist attacks and anything else they may be called on to deal with. And some of them -- most notably the majority of the Chicago team -- actually joined the hero programme back when it was still wholly a military and law enforcement project. So, um, they're... not exactly, um, civilians?" Her voice trails off uncertainly, turning her statement into a question.

Corporal McKinley shrugs. "They're not part of the chain of command," he says, slowly, like he's talking to a child. "The superhero programme was never really integrated into the military proper, even before it got farmed out to a non-profit. Since then..." He shakes his head. "The gap's only gotten wider. There's no *policy* on how best to deploy them, on what they're actually good for.

Even through the rain, it's clear that Corporal McKinley is becoming more and more agitated, his evident frustration pouring out with his words. This is obviously a subject he feels strongly about. Ms Westerhouse keeps trying to break in, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"But Corporal-" she tries, again. He just steamrollers right over her.

"I'll tell you what the so-called 'Superhero Project' is," he says, pointing at her for emphasis (and completely ignoring the camera). "It's a gimmick. A publicity stunt. A boondoggle." He shakes his head. "A goddamned waste of money and resources that could better be allocated elsewhere. You know why they were farmed out to the corporation in the first place? Because we couldn't afford 'em! And it's not even like they were ever really saw much use in war, aside from as morale boosters, or media fodder. As well send some dancing girls out there. I betcha the troops would appreciate that more on those long, lonely nights." He snorts in disgust. "And then there's the sorry bunch I've been saddled with on this op."

"Please don't," breathes Ms Westerhouse, her words barely registering on the microphone. Or, apparently, on the corporal.

"Buncha divas, most of them," he grumbles. "They just want to put the 'hero' in superhero. They don't seem to realise this isn't about grandstanding, or pulling off the flashiest rescues possible. It's about saving as many people as we can, even if that means we have to prioritise. We can't try to save everyone." Pain flickers over his face, then, and his next words are subdued. "As much as we'd like to."

He pauses briefly, but Ms Westerhouse is too busy staring at him with wide eyes to try to take advantage of the interlude. His ire apparently spent, he sighs and shakes his head as if trying to clear it.

"Mind you, he adds, thoughtfully. "I can't complain about the Iron Lady. She listens just fine, and she generally keeps her team under control. And I guess it has been useful having people who can fly. So, uh, yeah." He seems to finally remember he's being interviewed on live television, giving the camera an almost sheepish glance. "Did that answer your question?" He frowns. "What was the question again?"

Ms Westerhouse shoots a nervous glance towards the camera, her mouth moving soundlessly for a moment, but then she takes a deep breath and stands up straight, smoothing her expression into one of bland professionalism.

"Can you tell me a little bit more about the kinds of things the National Guard are doing here? You mentioned fixing the levees? That can't be easy, especially under these conditions. How exactly do you go about it?"

The corporal nods. "Well, first of all, the engineers have to triage the damage; figure out which repairs are most urgent. Also, which ones are actually physically possible in the current situation. And then..."

He talks about the subject at some length, prompted by more questions from Ms Westerhouse, who seems to be attempting to drag the interview back on track by sheer force of will.

She's more or less successful.

When it's over, when the corporal has gone back to his work, and when she's delivered her closing remarks to the camera, Ms Westerhouse heaves a great sigh, slumping a little. Now that she isn't putting on a brave face for the viewers, she looks utterly miserable.

"Well, *that* was a dog's dinner," she says, pulling her hood down so that most of her face disappears into shadow. Her voice muffled, she continues. "So much for making a name for myself with by being cool under pressure."

A man's voice chuckles, amused. "Cheer up, Katie. It's the local news broadcast, not CNN. The only people watching this are three old ladies, two students and several arthritic dogs. No one saw you flailing."

"Thanks, Sam." The sarcasm in those two words is practically a tangible force. "That *really* helps. Why don't-" She breaks off suddenly, tilting her head sharply.

"Hey, is that thing still on?" Her eyes widen. "Are we still live?"

"Oh sh-"

\-- Cut --

A splash of colour streaks across the storm-darkened skies; a blur of cobalt blue, brilliant against the endless grey. As it zips closer -- or the camera sharpens its focus; it's unclear which -- the blue streak resolves itself into the shape of a man, clad head to toe in something form-fitting and streamlined. The only part of his costume that isn't streamlined is the cape flapping wildly in his wake.

Abruptly, the superhero executes a momentum-defying turn, veering sharply downwards towards a cluster of buildings. Cut off from their former neighbours by the rising waters, the buildings stand alone on their new-made island. The hero dives down behind them, disappearing from view. The camera focuses in on the point where he was last seen, waiting patiently.

Several minutes pass.

Water churns and rushes through the streets as if it would scour the city to its very bones. In the distance, trees wave their branches in the wind like a crowd of angrily gesticulating scarecrows. The storm clouds loom over everything, spitting rain like fury, like a threat of worse to come. The recording is mute, and the absence of sound lends a strangeness to the scene, making it seem oddly unreal.

It's almost a relief when the hero reappears.

He flies lower this time, slower, not as smoothly, and he carries something in his arms. No, not something, *someone*; a blanket-wrapped form clinging on for dear life. The camera tracks the pair of them as they come closer, pass overhead, and arc down into a collection of tents and vehicles clustering together on a patch of undrowned earth.

This time, mere moments pass before the hero launches himself up into the sky again, back to soaring now he is no longer burdened by a passenger. The camera zooms in almost as rapidly, luck and skill combining in one perfect shot.

A superhero in flight. Cape streaming behind, arms stretched out in front of him with hands clenched into fists; a classic pose. Muscles rippling beneath his suit. Jaw clenched tight, a look of grim determination on his face.

And across his chest, a brilliant smear of scarlet.

\-- Cut --

Brilliant floodlights illuminate the scene, their harsh glare a stark contrast to the deep shadows of a pre-dawn without streetlights. The border between light and darkness is so clear that it almost seems like a solid barrier. The camera pans slowly back and forth over the illuminated area, revealing what seems to be utter chaos.

People are everywhere. To see such a crowd is startling after so many scenes almost devoid of humanity, and every single one of them seems to be in motion, clustering and swarming in the light like ants boiling out of an anthill. They are far from silent, their combined voices merging into a susurrus of urgency, but their merely human sounds cannot hope to match the storm's mighty voice.

The wind howls like a demon, like a chorus of the damned as it moans through shattered windows and gaping doors, tearing contemptuously at anything that dares to bar its way. The water roars as if in answer to the wind's violence; a hungry sound, its appetite still unsated despite all it has already consumed. Lightning splits the sky from horizon to horizon, the rumble of thunder like a growling tiger hard on its heels. And the ever-present hissing of the rain, a gentle sound compared to all the rest, yet somehow that only serves to make it seem all the more ominous.

But there is another sound, more ominous still. A sound that makes the people jump and shudder, that sends them about their tasks with greater urgency, that touches their faces with fear. The pained, painful sound of strain and pressure, of materials placed under dangerous stresses.

The slow, deep creaking, then cracking, as something starts to break...

"The patch won't hold." A man's voice, familiar, but made rough by worry. "Damnnit!" The camera zooms in on the speaker, a rain-blurred figure in dark green; Corporal Abel McKinley. The sound cuts out as he starts issuing orders, but though his words are inaudible, the effects are clear. The constant movement starts taking on a clear direction; away from the failing levee.

"-long do we have?" The woman who answers the corporal is instantly recognisable, her skin glinting like the metal for which she's named. The Iron Lady's words are clipped, edged with a command that Corporal McKinley seems to respond to without thinking about it.

"Engineers say the levee could go at any moment." He grimaces, his expression bleak. "You have to pull your people back."

The Iron Lady frowns. "We're not even close to finished yet. There are hundreds of people still trapped in there. We're talking families, Corporal. *Children.*"

"I know." The words seem to emerge through gritted teeth, the corporal's expression torn. "But the school is downstream." He jabs a thumb in the direction of the straining levee. "When this thing goes, the whole district's going to be underwater. I can't order you people to risk your lives like that. You're not soldiers."

"No, we're *heroes*," she snaps back. "And we volunteered for this. Let us do our *jobs*, Corporal. Let us do what we were made to do."

Corporal McKinley stares at the Iron Lady as if he's seeing her for the first time, as if her words are so unexpected that he doesn't know how to respond. But then he nods jerkily. "Fine. Volunteers only, though. Just..." He shrugs, the gesture oddly helpless-looking for someone so large. "Use your best judgement. Do whatever you can."

The Iron Lady seems to relax fractionally. "Thank you."

"You need anything from me?"

She considers for a moment before replying. "Just tell anyone in our vicinity to give us some room."

"Will do. And, Iron Lady?"

"Yes?" she says, pausing in the act of turning on her heel.

"Good luck."

"Thank you," she says, smiling tightly. "But I rather hope it doesn't come down to that."

\-- Cut --

Katie Westerhouse, aspiring big-time journalist, scowls fiercely into the camera.

"Don't you wimp out on me now," she says, jabbing her microphone forward for emphasis.

"I'm not," says Sam, sounding distinctly uncertain. "It's just... Didn't you hear the evacuation order? 'All non-essential personnel,' they said. Sounds like it's getting dangerous around here."

"We can handle it," Katie insists, the quaver in her voice detracting a little from the firmness of her words. "We can," she tries again, more steadily this time. "Besides, they've still got some people on the ground. We don't need to start panicking until they skedaddle."

"I don't know..."

"Look, we're wasting tape here."

"It's digital."

"Memory space, then. Whatever. Don't argue with me! The quicker we get this done, the quicker we can get out of here. Okay?"

"Okay," Sam sighs, sounding distinctly put upon. "But I am going to want hazard pay for this. Assuming we survive the experience."

"I'll buy you a drink afterwards," she says, flashing him a brilliant smile. "Several drinks. A plethora of drinks! Thanks, Sam. You're the best."

"Yeah, I know. Just don't get me killed, okay?"

"I'll do my best!" She takes a deep breath, pulling her hood back and getting her game face on. "Ready?"

"Go."

She looks towards the camera.

"Good morning. I'm Katie Westerhouse and I'm here in New Orleans, a city still in the grip of Hurricane Katrina. A short while ago, rescue workers found a partially-collapsed school full of people seeking shelter from the storm. They've been working to get everyone to safety, but even the superheroes have been having some difficulties. As I understand it, the building is so precarious right now that the slightest movement could send it tumbling down on the people trapped inside."

That seems to be Sam's cue to pan to her left a little, bringing into focus a distinctly battered-looking building off in the distance. Cracks and even holes are clearly visible in the walls and roof, and the area is strewn with storm-carried debris. There's even an upside-down car slewed sideways across the main steps. The whole structure is tilted at an angle, as if the ground has dropped out beneath one side of it. Right now, under the camera's watchful eye, a shudder seems to run through the bones of it, as if the school is shivering with fear or cold.

Maybe it even slips a tiny bit more.

"There's also an additional complication," Katie continues.

Sam does something subtle with the focus, or the framing, or some other technical thing, and suddenly the viewer's eye is drawn to her once more, even as the partially-collapsed/still-collapsing school looms ominously over her shoulder.

"The school building is downstream of a levee that's in danger of cracking under the strain, putting that whole area underwater. According to corporal McKinley of the National Guard, it could give way at any moment."

The camera jerks a little at that, as if Sam twitches involuntarily. Katie continues with her report.

"All non-essential personnel have been pulled back out of harm's way. The only people remaining within the area are those still trying to free those trapped in the school -- largely children and family groups -- and a small team working on reinforcing the levee." Her lips twitch briefly in a wry smile. "And us, of course. Fools that we are."

A moment later, her hand flies to her mouth as if she would call the words back. "We'll cut that last bit," she says, grimacing. Sam's laughter can be heard in the background, but he doesn't say anything as Katie takes a couple of deep breaths, getting her expression back under control. "Thank god we're not live right now," she murmurs.

"Yeah, well, let's hurry up and get this over with, okay? Or we won't be *alive* much longer."

"Okay, okay." She turns and starts striding determinedly in the direction of the school, intrepid reporter once more. "Let's get a little closer to the action."

\-- Cut --

Back to black again, with audio only.

"Nguyen to Base. Come in Base. Over." Chi's voice is stressed again, although not panicked. She sounds a little out of breath. There's the occasional pop and crackle of interference on the line, but her words come through relatively clearly.

"This is Base. Over."

"Local draw just spiked, and is continuing to climb. Output has shifted to match, though -- looks like the grid can handle the load. How's it looking at your end? Over."

"Green across the board so far, but the draw's likely to keep increasing for the foreseeable future. Is that going to be a problem? Over."

"Shouldn't be. The grid's pretty robust, even with the rejigging. But I'm keeping an eye on the numbers, and if that changes I'll let you know. What's happening out there anyway? Why the spike? Over."

"School full of trapped kids downstream of a breaking levee. Our guys are finally cutting loose. Over."

"Damn!" Chi's voice holds a mixture of anticipation and horror. "I guess the mobile gennies will finally get a proper field test, but... those poor kids. Let's hope they all get out safely. Over."

"Amen to that," Mike says, fervently. "Over and out."

\-- Cut --

"Move to your left a little," Sam says, softly. "I think it'll make a more striking image with the school directly behind you."

Katie moves obligingly. "Make sure you a good shot of the volunteers," she murmurs.

"No, I actually thought I'd just skip over them. Maybe pick a solitary piece of debris and focus on that. Because I obviously suck donkey balls as a cameraman if a junior reporter thinks she has to give me advice about how to frame a shot." The sarcasm in Sam's voice is almost palpable, even through the camera.

Katie winces. "Sorry. I didn't mean to tell you how to do your job. You're a great cameraman, honestly! I'm sorry you got saddled with me on this one. I know it can't be easy babysitting such a newbie." She sighs, chewing her lower lip nervously. "I just want something to go right today, you know?"

"It's okay," says Sam, sounding mollified. "And you're not doing too badly. It isn't your fault the corporal was such a hardass."

"I guess. But I-"

"No buts! Time's a-wasting here. Let's make some television! Okay?"

"Okay." She smiles, then looks stricken. "Doesn't it seem weird to be talking about career breaks and making good TV when people are dying? I mean, this whole thing is just horrible. People have lost everything. Their homes, their loved ones, their lives. And I just... I haven't really thought about it like that until now. I was just so excited to be trusted with this assignment. I kind of saw it as my big break. And I was so annoyed at myself for making a hash of it that this seemed like the perfect opportunity to make up lost ground. But... But, there are real people in there, in danger. Families. *Children.* This is life or death for them. Real life. Real... Real death."

She makes a strange, shuddering sound that could be a sob, a laugh, or some odd combination of the two.

"I guess either way, we'll get it all on tape. Children in peril: a truly compelling story whether you're talking about a miraculous rescue or a heart-rending tragedy. The kind of story that you can build a career on, that's for sure. But this *isn't* a story. This is real." She takes a breath, possibly her first one since she began her impromptu, impassioned speech. "Am I a terrible person?"

For a few moments, the only sounds are the noises of the hurricane and of the rescue workers in the background. But then Sam sighs. "You're not a terrible person," he says, finally. "You're right, this is real. But you can't afford to dwell on it too deeply or you'll burn out. I've seen it happen, time and time again. And the thing of it is, you're also wrong. This *is* a story. All those people you talked about, the ones losing everything: it's *their* story. They can't speak for themselves, so we have to speak for them. Don't they deserve to have their stories heard?"

His words are quiet, but sincere, his voice for once not laced with irony or humour or sharp-edged cynicism. Katie stares like he's suddenly sprouted a second head.

"I never figured you for an idealist, Sam," she says, finally.

"Yeah, well." He sounds uncomfortable. "I got into this business for a reason too, you know. And it wasn't out of some masochistic need to freeze my ass off in a hurricane looking my own mortality square in the face."

That startles a laugh from her. "Is that a hint?"

"No, it's a goddamn directive. Let's either do this, or get the hell out of here. There'll be time for the moral crisis once we're somewhere safe. And warm. And *dry*. Oh, sweet zombie jesus, I can't remember the last time I was actually dry. I swear I'm getting trench-"

"Stop right there!" Katie bursts out, cutting off whatever Sam had been about to say.

"I was going to say foot," he says, sounding like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "You know, trench foot. Like in World War One."

"Yeah, right." She looks suspicious. "They don't call you Mr TMI for nothing."

"Who calls me that?"

"*Everyone* calls you that. Anyway, enough chat. We have a job to do here, and by golly we're going to do it. Okay?"

"Okay. Ready when you are."

"Right." Katie looks down for a moment, her lips moving soundlessly, then she lifts her head once more and meets the camera's gaze with a serious and concerned expression. "We see here some of the soldiers, rescue workers and superheroes who have volunteered to stay behind in the hazard zone."

The camera pans slowly over the school, zooming in to show figures moving carefully around the perimeter. Most of them are clad in dark green, hard to distinguish from the debris-littered environment. The rest... stand out. If the colours and costumes didn't give it away, the strange or outright impossible things they're doing would.

"The woman in black is Radar."

The camera focuses on a figure crouching on the main steps of the school. Head bowed, hands flat on the ground, she looks almost like she's kneeling before an altar, an impression strengthened by the way her cape flutters around her like ragged robes.

"She can send out pulses of energy that pass through matter at different rates, giving her information about her surroundings." This part sounds a little stiff, as if it's something Katie has memorised by rote and is simply reciting. "Right now, she's using her power to map out the interior of the building, and also to look for weak spots. This information is vital for guiding rescuers like Blue Streak and Firefly through the building."

As if on cue, the blue-clad flying man from earlier emerges from one of the shattered buildings, accompanied by a faintly glowing, female figure. There is the suggestion of large wings sprouting from somewhere between her shoulder blades. Not solid things of flesh and bone, but ephemeral; traced in light. They flutter gently back and forth, their movement slow and almost languid, much slower than the paired heroes' soaring arc through the sky.

Between them is strung some kind of stiff net -- or flexible cage -- also apparently woven from threads of light, loops and whorls of the stuff wrapped around their hands. They clutch the threads tightly, for the net holds a precious cargo: children. A handful of small figures, some of them squirming a little as they try to keep their heads above their heels. Some of them are crying, some of them staring blankly or squeezing their eyes tightly closed. One small boy seems to be whooping and hollering in delight, an almost manic smile plastered across his dirty face as the sound of his excitement gives the storm's voice a run for its money.

The noise seems out of place; incongruous.

Blue Streak and Firefly make their way towards a clear area, descending until the net settles gently onto a large square of tarpaulin. (The tarpaulin itself it pretty muddy by now, but it's better than nothing.) The net seems to shiver once, and then unravel, the filaments retracting into Firefly's aura. As soon as the children have been released, Blue Streak is off like a shot, disappearing back into the building. Firefly follows him at a more sedate pace.

"Blue Streak's super-speed and flight make him ideally suited to getting into and out of the building rapidly, without causing further damage," Katie says. "Firefly may not be as fast as he is, but her ability to weave semi-solid structures out of light means that the two of them working together are more effective than if they each worked alone. Radar can guide them towards the team working inside, so they can retrieve anyone freed from the wreckage, getting them out of immediate danger."

The camera pans slowly over the building and back again.

"We can't bring you footage from inside the building, unfortunately-"

"Thank god."

"Hey!" Katie glowers crossly at the camera. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, sorry," Sam mutters sheepishly. "I didn't mean to say that out loud. Shall we go again from the panning shot?"

"I suppose we'll have to." She sighs heavily, then smooths her expression out. The camera pans over the school building a second time, matching the previous sweep pretty closely.

"We can't bring you footage from inside the building, unfortunately." This time, there is no interruption from Sam. "But I can tell you a little about what's going on in there." She starts walking, slowly, maintaining eye contact with the camera as it follows her. "The school was being used as an emergency storm shelter for people who hadn't managed to get out of the area before conditions became too hazardous for travel. It seemed like a good choice: large enough to hold everybody and sturdy enough to withstand the storm."

She comes to a halt before the main gates. Or, rather, what's left of them. One gate is still attached to its support pillar, barely, but hangs drunkenly askew from its one remaining hinge, rattling in the wind. The other is off to one side, tangled up in a pile of branches, bricks and other debris.

"They were wrong."

The camera zooms in on the battered building, lingering over the cracked and tilting foundations, on the gaps where it seems to have been forcibly uprooted from the soft, muddy ground.

"Unbeknownst to the people, the building's foundations had been weakened, most likely over the course of several years' wear, and the ground beneath eroded. The combination of high winds and driving rain was enough to finish the job. As you can see, the whole structure is now tilting badly. Doors have been blocked, hallways rendered impassable. Instead of being a place of shelter, the school has become a trap. A potentially deadly one."

Katie is silent for a moment, perhaps letting that thought sink in.

"Fortunately, a small team of rescue workers has managed to make it inside and has succeeded in opening up an escape route. This team consists of a couple of FEMA personnel, some soldiers of the National Guard and at least one superhero, Assimilator. Assimilator's powers usually let him absorb materials or objects to take on some of their properties. However, it seems that he's somehow figured out how to also transfer those properties to other objects. He's using this new ability to strengthen the part of the building where the people are." 

She starts to say something else, but then stops -- perhaps prompted by some unseen signal -- and turns to look up at the school. The camera follows her line of sight, focusing on two familiar figures emerging from a hole in the roof.

"Oh! Here are Blue Streak and Firefly again."

The two superheroes hand over another group of rescued people, their feet barely even touching the ground before they're airborne once more and heading back into the school building. Just like last time, Blue Streak gets there well before Firefly.

"The two of them are working as fast as they can, but it's clearly going to take a while to get everyone out like this. Unfortunately, as the situation stands, there isn't really a better way. Hopefully the team inside will be able to change that sometime soon, but for the moment let's turn our attention to what's happening outside." She smiles tightly at the camera. "Radar, Blue Streak and Firefly aren't the only heroes at work here."

The camera pans slowly over the scene, lingering on another of the superheroes on the ground. This one is male, slender and wears a costume of purple with a silver, web-like design.

"The observant among you may notice that Radar isn't actually speaking. So, how is she communicating what she's sensing to the other heroes? A superpower, of course, but not one of hers. The hero in purple and silver is called Sync, and this is actually his first time out in the field. Sync's superpower perhaps isn't one of the flashiest, but it's proving extremely useful in this situation. As I understand it, he can form temporary telepathic connections between people, letting them communicate instantly with each other. That's what he's doing right now."

The focus narrows, zooming in on Sync's face, close enough to show the worry in his eyes, the way his brow furrows, the way he's chewing on his lower lip so hard it's actually starting to bleed a little. His nervousness makes him seem very young. From here, the camera moves smoothly across to the knot of people clustered on and around the tarpaulin that's serving as a drop-off point for rescuees. One of the people stands out from the rest: a tall woman dressed in white robes, with long, flowing blonde hair. She's bending over the still form of a child. Her eyes are closed and her hands are limned with a soft golden glow.

"Panacea, of course, is able to heal with the power of her mind. Many of the people trapped in the school have been injured, or are simply suffering the effects of having been stuck in cold and damp conditions for several days without adequate food and water. There unfortunately isn't enough time for her to heal everyone completely, but she can patch them up enough to be moved, which has to be the priority right now."

The camera pulls back a little to show a couple of sturdy vehicles (military transports of some kind, by the looks of them) parked nearby.

"As soon as a vehicle is full, the driver will get his passengers out of the danger zone and then -- conditions permitting -- return for more."

Katie is silent for a few moments as the camera watches Panacea finish with one patient and turn her attention to the next. The first one is carefully lifted into one of the vehicles. Apparently, that puts it at capacity, for the driver starts the engine and carefully heads out of the area. The camera follows it until it rounds a corner and disappears from view, then returns to focus on Katie.

"We don't know exactly how many people are still trapped in the school," she says, "but best estimates put the number at several hundred. As you can see, the rescue is, of necessity, a slow process. Even with Assimilator shoring up the building, there is still a risk that they could bring the school down on the very people they're trying to save. And yet, with the levee about to give way literally at any moment, time is of the essence."

She gestures in the direction of the remaining vehicle with her free hand, and Sam obligingly puts it centre frame.

"We can see Zero-G, there by the vehicle." She indicates a man dressed in a costume of bright yellow with red accents. The yellow is remarkably close to the shade of Katie's anorak. "If the area does flood, he will use his anti-gravity powers to lift it above the water and fly it to the rendezvous point. He may not be able to fly as fast as Blue Streak, but at least he'll get them out of harm's way."

The camera focuses on Katie once more as she stares seriously into the camera.

"So, here we see it. These people, superhumans and mortals both, selflessly working to save these trapped children and teachers without despite the risk to their own safety. And, whether they're superhuman or merely mortal, make no mistake: they're all heroes."

She pauses, letting that sink in a moment, then very precisely delivers her closing sentence.

"Let's just hope the levee holds long enough to get everyone out."

\-- Cut --

When it happens, it happens in perfect silence.

Vision but no sound.

One breath.

A spiderweb of cracks; slow rivulets of dirty-brown liquid dribbling and trickling down to soak into the already waterlogged ground. Implacable, inexorable, but not yet imminent.

Not yet urgent.

There's still time. Still hope. Still a chance that the straining wall will hold. Will stay firm.

Another breath.

The levee just... disintegrates.

The once-solid bulwark surrenders explosively, unable to stand for one more moment against the might of the storm-swollen waters. Waters that now gush forth, swallowing everything before them, spreading, spreading, spreading as far as the eye can see.

Nature triumphant.

\-- Cut --

Water, water everywhere.

It rolls over cars, street-signs, garages.

It turns the streets to streams, then rivers, then torrents.

And still the waters rise.

\-- Cut --

A street-sign snaps in two with a sharp crack; is swept away by the current, tumbling end over end over end.

\-- Cut --

A house tilts alarmingly, its foundations, no doubt already tested, finally starting to fail.

\-- Cut --

The wall of water pushes onwards, ever onwards...

...only to crash into a wall of coruscating green light.

Corrosion Man stands in the middle of the street, facing down the flood. His legs are braced, his hands outstretched, palms facing outwards. Green light -- the corrosive energy that gives him his name -- pours from his skin, flowing outwards and up, the force of his will shaping it into a barricade against the water.

From the way his muscles tense, the way his lips are drawn back to reveal clenched teeth, this must be taking a phenomenal effort, pushing him to the limits of his exertion. Maybe even beyond.

But it's working.

When the water hits Corrosion Man's energy barrier, it simply... ceases to exist. The oncoming flood ends abruptly in a line straighter than any ruler.

And not a drop gets through,

\-- Cut --

A woman stands her ground before the approaching water. She's wearing a Chinese-style tunic over loose-fitting trousers, all in shades of green and brown. Both garments are decorated with an ivy-leaf design. The woman's feet are bare, smeared with mud, and her black hair is pulled back into a thick, messy braid. The expression on her face is a mixture of apprehension and disbelief, as if she's shocked to be where she is, doing what she's doing.

Maybe she is. Or maybe it's something else entirely. Reading her face isn't exactly easy at this distance.

The superhero -- for what else could she be? -- stands in the middle of what was a road, but it now blocked by an incongruous thicket of trees and shrubs. She gestures, her mouth working as if she's muttering to herself, maybe chanting, and more shoots burst from the ground before her.

Asphalt and concrete shatters as the impossible plants reach for the sky, gaining years of growth in a mere handful of seconds. The new growth weaves itself in among the old -- well, older -- forming a living dam that checks the water's flow. A little of it trickles through, but even these small flows are choked down to almost nothing as tendrils of ivy crawl over trunks and branches, filling in the gaps.

The barrier holds.

\-- Cut --

Arms folded, the man leans casually against an upturned car, the expression on his face almost bored as the water bears down on him. An hourglass symbol is emblazoned across his chest, just visible behind his loosely folded arms.

He maintains his pose of studied indifference as the new river rushes towards him, but an observant viewer may notice the way his eyes keep flicking between the wave-front and a precariously leaning street-sign a few metres ahead of him. And then the other signs start to become clear. The way his hands shake, just a little, braced on his arms as if that will stop them trembling more. The way a muscle in his jaw keeps twitching, the way his chest rapidly rises and falls, like his breath is coming shallow and quick.

This man, this superhero, is afraid.

But who could blame him?

Afraid or not, he stands his ground. And when the water draws level with that battered street-sign, he stirs.

No flashy gestures, no glow of energy. He just straightens, narrowing his eyes a little as he stares intently at the water.

And the water stops.

It hasn't actually frozen, hasn't turned to ice. Rather, it's as if someone's hit the pause button, but only on part of the screen. The wave-front curls over, but doesn't fall. Ripples on the surface cease their movement. Leaves and other debris seemingly hover in the air, arrested mid-flight. Further upstream, the liquid still churns and ripples and moves, rushing forwards...

... until it passes some invisible barrier, and then...

Pause.

Overhead, a bird flaps confusedly, buffeted by the wind until it flutters across the threshold and then it, too, pauses.

The man takes a deep breath, tenses, seems to concentrate harder. The zone of stillness spreads further, rippling away from him. It's like the world -- well, a small part of it -- shivers once, and then stills.

The flood has been halted in its tracks.

\-- Cut --

The picture jerks up and down, up and down; the irregular rhythm of someone running over uneven ground. Running too fast and too carelessly to keep the camera steady and smooth. (Too careless to turn the camera off, perhaps? Whatever the reason, the film -- well, the flow of ones and zeroes that has replaced it -- keeps rolling.)

Battered houses and debris-strewn roads bounce by at a reasonable clip: apparently the camera is passing through a storm-lashed, rain-drenched city. The scene feels familiar even before the figure up ahead comes into view. Clad in that unmistakeable bright yellow anorak, Katie -- well, her back -- is instantly recognisable. She's a short distance ahead of the camera, running, not flat out, but not slowly either. There's an urgency to her movements, to the way she anxiously scans the horizon, jumping at every sudden sound or movement from the environment.

"I knew we should've left sooner," Sam pants, his tone accusing.

"We got some great footage." Katie doesn't turn around, keeping her eyes forward as she side-steps debris.

"The company had their own cameras. They had a helicopter, for crissakes! In the end, did we really get anything worth risking our necks for?"

"Of course we did. *We* were there on the ground, right in the thick of things. I actually spoke to the heroes, and to some of the kids they've rescued. That's worth more than footage shot from a distance, with commentary added after the fact. I'm telling you, Sam: this stuff is pure gold. Gold!"

They have to slow for a few moments to pick their way over a tumbled sprawl of garbage bags. Many of the bags' shiny black skins have been torn raggedly open, their deliquescing innards oozing forth onto the road.

"Yeah, well," Sam continues, as they finally work their way free of the unpleasant obstacle and pick up the pace once more. "It's only gold if we actually get to safety in time. If we die out here, it might as well be shit."

"We're not going to die!" Katie yells, but volume isn't certainty and there's an edge of fear to her voice that even shouting can't conceal. "We're *not*," she adds more quietly, actually shooting a glance back over her shoulder to show the determination in her eyes. As if she can make her words true just by will alone.

"Hmm." Sam sounds distinctly unconvinced. "We could have tried to get places on the transport. It would've been way quicker than slogging our way on foot."

Katie is already shaking her head. "It was already far too overloaded. If they'd made room for us, that's two more injured adults stuck there. Maybe four kids. I sure as hell wouldn't want that on my conscience. Would you?"

"No, of course not." He sighs heavily. "I just... Never mind." He pauses for a moment, then continues in a lighter tone. "I just always thought I'd meet my end in a den of iniquity somewhere surrounded by hookers and blow. Not drowning because some newbie reporter doesn't have sense enough to get out of a flood zone when the *army* leave, and is cute enough to talk me into staying with her."

Sam's humour sounds a little forced, but Katie reacts to it anyway. "Don't worry, we'll get you to that den of iniquity yet."

"I'll hold you to that," he mutters. "I knew there was a reason I don't normally do this shit."

"What?" She sounds startled. "I thought you were a veteran cameraman. I thought you'd been doing this for years! You said you'd show me the ropes and give me the benefit of your experience."

"Well, ah, I have been doing this for years. I just... don't tend to go for the... less safe field assignments. I usually cover the city beat."

Katie actually stops, turning round to face him with a look of utter incredulity on his face. "You told me you've been in war zones! You said you laugh at danger!"

"I have been in war zones!" he protests. "Well, one war zone. Technically."

"Technically?"

"It kind of became a war zone while I was there. And I, uh, sort of got out of the area as soon as I could."

Heedless of the driving wind and rain, Katie sweeps her hood back off her face, the better to glare daggers at him. "That's laughing at danger, is it?"

"Well, um, I, well..." He coughs, sounding uncomfortable. "Honestly, I was mostly trying to get into your pants. Starry-eyed Kate Adie-worshipping newbie reporters usually go nuts for that Dan Dare stuff."

For a moment, Katie just stares at him, nonplussed. Then she turns on her heel and starts jogging again, not even bothering to put her hood back up.

"Come on, let's go," she calls back over her shoulder. "We don't have the time to stand around. I don't know if we're out of the flood zone yet."

Sam, apparently not needing any encouragement to resume their escape (nor to change the subject of their conversation), hurries to keep up with her. "Don't you know where we are?"

"More or less."

"More or less? What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I keep losing signal on my phone, and the GPS is being kind of screwy. From what I remember, and from the last good reading I had, we're heading in the right direction. I just don't know how much further we have to go. We might be far enough, we might not. It's hard to tell."

"Oh."

That seems to kill the conversation for the moment, and the two of them seem to concentrate their all their efforts on getting to safety. After a few minutes of running, however, Katie stops again.

"What's wrong?" Sam wants to know, pausing beside her, and apparently hopping from foot to foot. "Why have you-"

"Can you hear that?"

"Hear- Oh, *shit*!"

A sound registers on the microphone. The sound of rushing water.

"I think it's up ahead of us." Katie's words sound distant; detached, expressionless. "Maybe it changed course. Or we did. I guess it doesn't matter now." She pauses while Sam splutters incoherently, seemingly unable to put together anything resembling actual words. "Come on!" she says suddenly, beckoning to Sam. "Let's just see if we can..."

Her last sentence trailing off into nothing, she starts scrabbling over the piled mess in what had once been someone's front yard, clambering up until she's standing on the narrow roof over the front porch. The house has a veranda that seems to go all the way around the outside. From Katie's current position, it's a careful step and pull to squirm through a gap in the veranda railings. Testing her footing first -- the warped boards creak alarmingly, but she seems satisfied that they'll hold her weight -- she steps lightly, disappearing from view around the corner of the building.

"Katie?" Sam calls, his tone confused and a little plaintive. And then, when she doesn't answer: "Katie!" He draws breath audibly, perhaps to call her name again, but she re-enters the frame, leaning around the corner to wave at him encouragingly.

"Come on. It'll hold both of us. I think. And I think it should be high enough so we don't get caught in the flood. Hurry!" she adds, when he still doesn't move. "I don't know how much longer we have."

"I can't... What about the camera?"

"Um..." She carefully makes her way back around the veranda and onto the porch roof, moving quicker than she did going the other way, and crouches down, holding out her hands. "Pass it up to me."

"But... Okay. Fine. Hang on a sec."

\-- Cut --

"Base to Nguyen. Come in Nguyen." Even with his words blurred by both interference and by the sounds of the storm in the background of the recording, Mike's voice sounds worried. "We're seeing some odd fluctuations here. What's your status? Over."

"Ng- ... ... -ase. ... ... disruption to ... grid. Trying to re- ... ... ... interference. Over."

"Say again, Nguyen. Your last transmission was garbled. Please repeat. Over."

The answer is nothing but noise. Seconds tick by, one by one by one, and then, finally, there's a signal.

"Nguyen to base. Can ... read me? Over."

"Good enough, Nguyen." It doesn't sound like Mike is even trying to hide his relief, or to keep his tone clipped and professional. He sounds like a man thankful that someone he cares about is alright. "What's happening out there? Over."

"Looks like some of the gennies have been damaged. Guess they're not as weather-proof as we'd hoped. At least one's down completely. We've modified the configuration to compensate and the grid seems to be stabilising again. Interference is worse, though, for no damn reason that I can see. The comms aren't even using the same band." Chi sighs heavily. "I guess you can't plan for the unexpected, hey? Over."

"I guess not." Mike seems to choose his next words carefully, his tone neutral. "Should we abort the mission?"

"Not yet," Chi says, her words just as precisely enunciated as Mike's, sounding oddly dry and formal. "Output levels and stability are still within acceptable parameters. However, given the risks, I recommend that we abort if there's any further degradation at all, even if output remains within tolerance levels. Over."

"Understood and agreed. Keep me informed, Nguyen. And take care out there. Over."

"Will do, Base. Over and out."

\-- Cut --

"How's this?"

Katie, apparently back in reporter mode, stands with her back to the veranda, squinting into the camera.

"Still not enough light. Move to your left a little?" She does so. "There. Stay right there. That's perfect. Well," Sam amends. "As close to it as we're going to get, given the circumstances."

"Are you getting the street okay?"

"Yep. And I'll have a great view of the water when it gets this far." He laughs, the sound a little hollow and breathless. "I can't believe we're doing this."

Katie shrugs. "We should be okay up here."

"You think."

"I think," she agrees, utterly unapologetically. "Anyway what else are we going to do while we're stuck here?" She screws up her face. "Don't answer that."

"You wound me, milady."

"Don't tempt me." She shoots him a glower, then takes a deep breath, smoothing her face into her professional mask as she exhales. "Ready?"

"Good to go when you are."

"Okay." Katie looks into the camera, her voice grave but without any trace of panic. "Good morning. I'm Katie Westerhouse, still here in New Orleans." She takes a breath. "Ladies and gentlemen, the worst has happened. A few minutes ago, the failing levee I spoke of earlier finally gave way. Even as we speak, the floodwaters are bearing down on this position and, more importantly, on the school."

She pauses for a moment to let that sink in.

"There is some good news: three transports full of people rescued from the collapsing building managed to get safely out of the danger zone. Unfortunately, a great many of them are still trapped. However, I understand that a number of superheroes are doing what they can to block, slow and otherwise disrupt the water before it reaches the school, to give the rescuers more time. The rescuers are making full use of that extra time, doing everything they can to save as many people as possible before the water hits. We can only pray that they are successful."

The camera is positioned so that the street below is visible behind Katie. And as she talks, it becomes clear that the area isn't as deserted as it first seemed. Something large comes into view, something just about large enough to block the whole street if it were laid flat on the ground. Something curved and made of concrete, with pieces of warped and twisted metal sticking out of the end like shards of rusty bone.

"We are-" Katie breaks off mid-sentence, frowning as her gaze drifts off to the side, presumably to Sam. She blinks, and then turns around to lean on the veranda railing, looking down at the street below. "Oh, my god!"

Without needing to be told, Sam moves forward to get a better shot of what's happening below. In an excited voice, Katie starts to provide commentary.

"Ladies and gentlemen, here comes one of the superheroes now: the Iron Lady, from the Chicago team."

As she speaks, the lady in question comes into view, looking for all the world like a living metal statue as she marches inexorably along the road, holding the massive concrete and steel structure up over her head.

"She appears to be holding a... What is that?" she murmurs, more to herself than the camera, before clearing her throat and trying again. "She appears to be holding what I think is a large bridge, or possibly part of an overpass. Definitely a large concrete structure of some kind."

Katie takes a deep breath, managing to recover some of her poise.

"The Iron Lady can transform into a kind of living metal, granting herself superhuman strength and toughness. She can also reinforce objects that are in direct contact with her skin. That must be how she's managing to carry that... that huge thing without it breaking apart."

The Iron Lady makes her way slowly but steadily down the street, coming to a halt a few houses down from Katie and Sam's vantage point. She carefully lowers the bridge or overpass or whatever it is until it's straight out in front of her, then slams it to the ground with a tremendous thump. The picture wobbles a little, as if Sam struggles for balance. Katie stumbles into view, clutching at the railing to keep her feet.

When the camera steadies, the concrete structure stretches across the width of the street, skewed at a slight angle, one end resting on the porch of a house across the way. The Iron Lady glances back and forth, consideringly, and then, frowning slightly, shifts the makeshift barricade a little. It makes a horrendous scraping noise as it moves over the ground, like the sound of nails on a chalkboard amplified a thousand times. Katie cries out, pressing her free hand to one ear. Mercifully, the noise doesn't last long. When it ceases, the structure now lies more or less straight across the road. The porch of the house at its far end is now a shattered, splintered mess. The near end disappears into a new hole in the wall of the house opposite that one.

Katie clears her throat.

"It looks like the Iron Lady has made a makeshift dam, and not a moment too soon. If you listen carefully, you can probably hear the sound of the approaching flood."

Sure enough, in the relative silence following the racket of getting the barricade into position, the hiss of water has become a roar. In the street below, the Iron Lady takes up a position in the centre of the barricade. Placing her hands flat against the rough concrete, she bends her knees and braces for impact.

Moments pass, and then...

"Here it comes..." Katie murmurs.

And the water crashes into view, rushing eagerly forward, swallowing up the street, only to break uselessly against the Iron Lady's dam. Small rivulets trickle around, and through, but the bulk of the flood is stopped in its tracks, turning back on itself in a spray of white waves.

The Iron Lady smiles grimly, gleaming tendrils starting to spread out from where her hands press against the concrete.

Katie laughs a little breathlessly.

"Looks like stone beats water."

Sam heaves a great sigh, the sound only just audible. "For now," he says, softly. "For now..."

\-- Cut --

"...too many to... ... ... Repeat, we are losing the grid! ... minutes at most. Base, you have to... ... ... Can you hear me? Base? Anyone?" Between desperation and distortion, Chi's voice is barely recognisable.

"Nguyen, this is Base. Say again. Did you say abort? Over." Mike's transmission isn't much better.

Seconds tick by as the line crackles and hums to itself and then, finally: "Abort the mission. The grid is failing. You *have* to abort. Code blue! Code blue! Abort, abort, abort! Code blue! Over!"

"Message received, Nguyen. Over." A brief pause, then: "Base to all field agents. Code blue. Abort mission. Repeat. Code blue. Abort mission. We are losing the grid. Do not use powers. Code blue. Abort mission. Try to get to safety as best you can without using powers. Repeat. Do not use powers. We are losing the grid. Code blue. Abort mission. Confirm and report in as soon as you can. Good luck and godspeed. Code blue. Abort mission. Base out."

\-- Cut --

The camera angle is different -- above the action, perhaps, rather than on the same level -- and there is no sound, but the scene is a familiar one: a battered and beleaguered school building. Perhaps it's a little more battered-looking now, a little more broken and tilted. It doesn't look as though it's going to hold up much longer. The vehicles are gone, as are all of the merely mortal rescue workers. The only people left are those wearing costumes.

The superheroes seem to be conferring together. Or, from the looks of it, arguing. There's a great deal of arm-waving, pointing and shaking of heads; the gestures' meaning plain even without sound. From the looks of it, there are two groups, two opposing points of view, one led by Radar and the other by Blue Streak. It isn't clear what they're arguing about, but after a minute or two they seem to come to some uneasy agreement, with Blue Streak's side apparently emerging victorious.

Their decision apparently made, the group splits up, each of them moving with grim purpose. Radar sinks to the ground, her eyes closing as she focuses all her attention on what her extra senses are telling her. Sync and Panacea stand behind her, Sync just as deeply lost in concentration as Radar. Panacea, on the other hand, moves uneasily from foot to foot, looking around as if she's not sure what she should be doing. Shaking her head, she grimaces, then takes a deep breath and clasps her hands awkwardly in front of her.

Blue Streak, Firefly and Zero-G head for the school, accompanied by a hero who wasn't visible during Katie's report. Possibly this is the mysterious Assimilator. The four of them each position themselves at a corner, the camera obligingly pulling back to get them all in shot. Blue Streak and Firefly are diagonally across from each other, as are Assimilator and Zero-G. The first pair hold position about a pace or so back from the building, but the second pair move forward until they're right up against the wall. Zero-G stands with his legs apart and braced, stretching his arms wide and placing his palms on the cracked bricks and split wood. Assimilator takes another step forward... and melts into the solid substance of the building, merging with it until the only sign that he was ever there is a vaguely person-shaped outline in the wall.

That's when things start to happen.

The school building shudders, the surface rippling almost like water before the front and the roof of it peel back, opening up like the petals of a flower. Zero-G starts to glow, first dimly and then brighter, the light washing over the building like water. Parts of it start to separate from the rest, splitting along ruler-straight lines to float away on cushions of light. Once the building fragments are at a safe distance from the people, the light fades, unceremoniously dumping them in a pile. Between the two of them, Assimilator and Zero-G disassemble the school from the outside in, opening it all the way up until there's a way to the centre. That's when Firefly and Blue Streak start to play their part.

Firefly throws her hands wide, sending filaments of light darting forth, snaking their way under fallen roof-beams and tumbled furniture. At the same time, Blue Streak turns into a blur of motion, moving so fast the camera can barely pick him up. Again and again he speeds into the building, clearing debris from precariously balanced piles and getting it out of the way. Zero-G helps him, judging by the way some of the pieces glow as they're lifted into the air and flung aside.

As the space is cleared, figures become visible at the heart of the mess. Now, some of the difficulties the rescuers had been facing become clear. This room -- an auditorium or gym, by the looks of it -- has a massive crack running through the middle of it. There are people visible through the now mostly cleared chasm, people who until now had been trapped below ground. Now, the path is clear, but there's no obvious way for the people to climb up.

But, as it turns out, climbing isn't part of this plan.

Firefly's ribbons of light suddenly snap taut, forming a mesh barrier just below the cracked floor. Slowly, the floor starts to peel back, and then break up, the pieces bright with Zero-G's signature glow as they float up and away. He doesn't get them all, but the ones he misses are caught by Firefly’s net of light, kept from falling onto the people below. Blue Streak blurs into motion again, clearing these pieces away. Apparently, the mesh net can take the weight. That's just as well, given the next part of the rescue.

Something happens below the ground, something only visible as a shift in the light mesh, an increase in intensity. More filaments shoot up from below, wrapping themselves around the upper bodies of all three heroes, twining and twining again to bind them with thick, sturdy cables. If sturdy is a word that can be applied to something woven from light itself.

There's a moment where the world almost seems to hold its breath.

Slowly, carefully, the three superheroes take to the air.

And they lift the cage of light -- a cage full of people -- with them.

\-- Cut --

The wall of green energy flickers and fades, losing coherence, losing substance. The water surges forward greedily, rushing to fill the space, the wave front breaking, rolling over where Corrosion Man sags in place, trembling...

...Until he grits his teeth, drags himself upright and focuses as if his life depends on it. Energy crackles and sparks around his body, pushing back against the wave, reforming his barricade. It's not as straight as before, not as even, maybe, but it's keeping the water back.

Just.

Suddenly, there's a smear of darkness down his mouth and chin; blood is dripping steadily from his nose, slowly at first and then faster and faster. His whole body starts to tremble. Slowly, cautiously, he starts to step backwards, testing the ground before shifting his weight. His barrier follows him, yielding ground to the hungry river one step at a time. He's careful, but perhaps not careful enough. One moment he's creeping steadily backwards, the next he's stumbling, losing his footing, crashing to the ground. His barrier roils and flickers, then vanishes completely.

And the water swallows him whole.

\-- Cut --

The woman in green sinks to her knees, the wall of vegetation before her starting to blacken and rot over the course of moments. She braces herself on her hands, lifting her head with a clear effort, the organic barricade rallying a little as she does so. 

Something strange is happening to her, clothes bulging oddly as if her skin is writhing beneath the fabric. Suddenly, vines burst forth from her back, tearing through her shirt and plunging deep into the ground, the force of it pulling her half-way to her feet. Eyes wide and shocked, she opens her mouth in a soundless scream, blood spraying forth as she flings her head from side to side. Her skin is darkening, sloughing off her body in long strips to reveal something wet and red and glistening underneath.

The woman's transformation is so sudden, so horrifying, that it draws the viewer's attention from the living dam, distracting them from the way the intertwined plants shoot upwards and out in a sudden frenzy of growth, then just as suddenly start to crumble.

And then there's nothing holding back the flood.

\-- Cut --

The man with the hourglass symbol is part-way up a trellis, clinging on for dear life. His face is bloody, and one arm hangs limp, bent at an unnatural angle. Part of the image still seems to be frozen, it's moved on a little from last time, the water almost level with the superhero's position. Even as the viewer watches, the image stutters, the water jerkily moving forward a metre or so in a rapid series of stop-start motions before pausing again. It's like someone has their finger on the remote, repeatedly hitting play and then pause.

Another few metres, and it'll reach the man.

He hangs there for a few moments, then in a flurry of motion hauls himself up the trellis until he's high enough to reach the roof over the front porch. He starts to step across, but slips, trying and failing to catch himself with his bad arm so that he sprawls across the sloping surface. It's a wonder he doesn't slide right off again, but somehow he manages to stay put.

That seems to be all he has in him, however, his head lolling forward and his limbs flopping limply on the tiles.

And in the background, the water starts to flow again.

\-- Cut --

"There's something wrong," Katie murmurs, a frown creasing her brow. "The Iron Lady seems to be struggling."

Sam focuses in on the superheroine, showing a close-up of her face, of the way her features are twisted in what looks like pain.

"Her skin is turning back to normal, at least is some places."

Obligingly, Sam pulls back a little to show just that: patches of the Iron Lady's skin and clothes returning to their normal hue and texture. Suddenly, there's a sharp crack.

Katie sucks in an audible breath.

"The improvised dam just cracked down the middle."

A sweeping shot of the dam, showing a jagged break between the Iron Lady's hands. Water starts to seep through.

"It's still holding the bulk of the water back, at least for now, but it... it seems to be weakening under the stress. I'm not sure what's wrong, but the Iron Lady seems to be having trouble maintaining her powers."

Pulling back to focus on the superheroine, her visible flesh now a shifting patchwork of skin and metal.

"There's something on her face... Blood? It looks like she's suffering a nose-bleed, and a bad one. Her whole body is shaking, and I think..." Katie tilts her head, listening carefully. "I think she's screaming."

She holds the microphone out over the railing, as far as she can, and faintly, barely audible over the sound of the wind and water, comes a thin, desperate wail.

"Somehow she's keeping the dam intact, but it seems to be costing her dearly. She's clearly in pain. I just don't know how much longer she can keep this up..."

Katie falls silent, chewing on her lower lip and frowning before nodding her head as if she's come to a decision.

"Stay here," she says to Sam, and hands him the microphone.

"What? Where are *you* going?" Sam replies, his confusion plain. Katie pushes past him, making her way back around the veranda.

"She can't hold out forever, and I think her powers are the only thing keeping the dam together. If she fails, I don't think she's going to be any condition to get herself out of there in time. Someone's going to have to pull her out."

She climbs over the railing, and then makes the short jump down onto the porch roof.

"Are you crazy? You'll be killed!"

She part-climbs, part-skids down the pile of debris to the ground, turning to look back up at him.

"There'll be a few moments before it gives way completely. And I'm a strong swimmer. I'll... I'll be okay." Her words are faint now, only just audible. She looks up into the camera with an expression that's probably meant to be determined, but doesn't completely hide her fear.

"Katie-"

"I have to do this," she insists. "Stay there. Stay safe." She smiles fleetingly. "Keep the camera rolling."

"Katie..." Sam says, softly, but she's already turning away, disappearing around the corner of the building. For a moment or two, he just stands there, watching the empty scene, but then he shakes himself -- the camera wobbles -- and heads back around the veranda. Finding a stable position, he focuses the camera on the drama below.

The Iron Lady sags a little, for one instant utterly, pathetically mortal again. The crack spreads further, water coming through faster now, one rivulet becoming several. But then, somehow, somewhere, she finds a new reserve of determination, forcing herself upright with an almost visible act of will. Howling in pain, or maybe just with sheer bloody-minded stubbornness, she bodily flings herself at the dam, fragile flesh transformed into metal once once.

Maybe she can pull through on willpower alone.

But if not, Katie scrambles into position behind her, ready to catch the Iron Lady if -- when? -- she falls.

"Katie, you stupid, stubborn, ridiculously brave girl," Sam mutters. "I hope you know what you're doing..."

\-- Cut --

The breadth of their effort is written clearly in the faces and bodies of the trio of superheroes. Slowly, so slowly, they struggle to get higher, to lift their precious burden to safety. The cage clears the floor, clears what's left of the walls, and then suddenly drops several inches, its light flickering and dimming. The people inside start to tumble, their mouths open in what are surely screams of panic. But the heroes redouble their efforts.

Firefly blazes like an arc-light as she sends pulses of energy crackling along the fading bars and floor of the cage, not only restoring their former brightness and solidity, but multiplying it two or three-fold. Zero-G is glowing like a miniature sun. Between him and Firefly, it's growing difficult to make out any details. The only thing that's clear is that the three superheroes are lifting the cage full of people slowly higher.

And higher still.

The camera suddenly turns, the image blurring with speed as it swivels to point away from the rescue in progress. To focus instead on the sure and certain sign that the heroes are almost out of time.

A wall of water rushing towards the school.

The camera moves again.

Three figures scrambling over rubble, climbing as fast as they can to get to higher ground. Racing the flood. It's going to be a tight one. Sync clutches his head and stumbles; Radar grabs him, bodily hauling him up with her. They have to keep moving, they can't afford to stop, not even for a moment. If they stop, they're lost.

Back to the school, and the heroes are in trouble. They've cleared the school building -- well, what's left of it -- but it seems to be taking all of their effort not to slip down to earth again. Blue streak has his hands pressed to his face, and he's shaking his head as if to clear it. Lowering his hands -- they come away coated in scarlet -- he turns to shout something to the other two and then tilts his body up and forwards, his muscles tensing. The three of them manoeuvre the cage around so that Blue streak is pulling, while the other two push. It seems to help.

But the water's coming closer.

And the three heroes on the ground are in trouble. Their higher ground wasn't quite high enough, and now they're struggling not be swept away by the current. Sync isn't even trying to hold on; it doesn't look like he's even conscious. Radar and Panacea are clinging to him desperately, Panacea's hands glowing gently as she tries to fix whatever's wrong with him, but she's shaking her head, and it just doesn't seem to be *working*...

While the wave-front crashes over at the ruined school building, spilling over the stumps of its walls, and down through the hole in the floor. But thankfully, *finally*, Blue Streak and Firefly and Zero-G have lifted their passengers high enough, so the water only laps at their feet momentarily before another burst of effort pulls them out of its grasp. They're moving horizontally now, as well as upwards, making their way to somewhere safe. Somewhere safer than here, at any rate.

All they have to do is keep going.

Radar loses her grip on Sync, and the current snatches him away.

All they have to is hold on.

Panacea tumbles with him, her mouth wide-open in a soundless scream. Radar lunges for her...

The one thing they can't do is fall.

 

* * * * *

 

If you're looking back from across time's divide -- if you didn't live through the events I've recounted for you -- you have to understand that this was the first time we'd really seen what superheroes could do when they really cut loose. And what they were willing to do. In the end, it wasn't their superpowers that made them heroes, it was their sacrifice.

We call the event 'The Twilight of the Gods' because the gods fell that day. They fell and they died. But with their fall -- with their sacrifice -- they saved hundreds of lives. If that isn't the definition of a hero, ladies and gentlemen, then I don't know what is.

Before the Twilight, we found superheroes interesting. Cool. Maybe even scary.

But afterwards?

We loved them.


End file.
